Fiddle
by Dead-Kenny-Dead
Summary: A hasty bet leaves Moop with no choice but to rock hard. After all, South Park would go to Hell and Damien's clutches otherwise. With a year to perfect their skills, things are about to get interesting for the four boys. Rating may change with time.


"Dad says to keep it down; we're sounding like torture victims again."

"That's because your dad is an asshole, Stan; Jesus Christ Kahl can't you play that damn thing right?"

Kyle sputtered something angry towards Cartman in snappy fashion, all the while Kenny just tapped sullenly at his drum set. Why they had decided to pick up their old band equipment and try to rattle out songs in Stan's garage again was beyond him. They were too old to be dreaming of being teenage rock stars; they were already teenagers and the only hope they had was graduating high school and getting the hell out of South Park faster than they could say "college tuition."

"Guys, this sucks. We suck."

Stan grumbled and scratched at his unwashed hair from under his cap. "We don't suck Kenny, we just don't have enough time to practice."

"No, Kinny's right. You guys suck and it's bringing down mah awesome musical voice."

"Shut the fuck up, fatass! Kenny should be the singer, he's got a better voice."

The blonde grinned and twirled his drumsticks in his hand, wiggling his eyebrows in pleasure to the compliment. "Yeah, but Cartman's better for this rock band crap. I'm an opera singer, dude. I get like, classy titties and shit like that."

The redhead just shook his head, running his fingertips over the strings of his guitar and wincing at the shriek they made over the equipment. "No one's getting any titties with this crap."

But the four of them, Kenny, Cartman, Stan, and Kyle, just picked up their instruments and picked up back off their number. The drumming was off, the vocals were off key, and the whine of feedback from lead and bass guitar overthrew the actual music they created. But they carried through it all in the tiny garage, like they were playing for a crowd of thousands all cheering the name "Moop" and throwing themselves at their feet. It was a tiny dream from a tiny town, innocent enough.

"You sound like you're dissecting raccoons in here."

They came to a screeching halt, a silent hiss of "shiiiit," from Kenny's direction at the slip of a stick to his hand.

The son of the devil stood in a bored fashion in the light area of the garage opening, arms crossed and looking rather like he was here to stir up trouble more than catch up with his classmates. The light from the afternoon sun made Damian look paler than normal, brightening it and adding more contrast to the dark circles under his eyes. Either way the young man looked out of place, with trouble brewing somewhere in his mind that could only be hinted in the light smirk he let fall to their graces.

"The hell do you want, asshole." Cartman still clung to the microphone stand, sweating and panting from how rough he had been pushing his voice to sing as loud and rough as it would dare to go. "Tickets are fifty bucks a pop."

"Oh please," came the sputter of sheer boredom, "You would have to pay _me_ to sit here and listen to your utter failure to call yourselves musicians."

They knew they were shitty. But you don't just come and insult their pride; all four boys instantly gave a threatening step forward with the intent to scare Damien into leaving. Like they could scare him off. "I'd like to see you do better, dude!" Kyle cracked his shoulders smugly, testosterone flying throughout the room and dulling their better judgments.

"I'm extremely talented in many more ways than one. You really think you four idiots could beat me?"

"Yeah," came Stan's statement with a threatening nod, standing beside Kyle and Cartman as if to mesh their bodies together to create a bigger, threatening teenager. "I bet we could kick your ass in a heartbeat!"

Something inside Damien's eyes clicked forward like a big cat's gaze. A challenge, one he could beat? As far as life went about in South Park, things had gotten...well...rather dull in recent. "A wager, you say?"

"Guys, maybe this isn't the be-"

"Shut up Kinny. We'll kick your ass anytime, anywhere you big pussy!"

He grinned and clicked his teeth like clockwork.

"Very well then," he agreed with a turn of his heel and his back to them. Their own idiocy would place everything so nice into his hands that he could feel it. "If you win, I'll give you enough band equipment to the point where talent wouldn't need to be necessary. You'll be able to live your little pathetic dream quite nicely, actually. How does that sound?"

"Fine! What an idiot."

"You didn't ask me what _I_ would get if _I_ win."

Cartman merely laughed, crossing his arms over his chest and puffing it up to make himself look more muscled. "Doesn't matter you dick, I'm awesome enough without these stupid assholes."

He watched as Kyle threw a punch right into Cartman's arm in glee, rapping his fingers against one another and smiling wider than he had in a long time. "You should know then that the whole town of South Park's fate rests on your shoulders. Because, if I win, you're all taking a trip down to Hell with me and not coming back."

"Aw, Awww!"

"Well, you should really think these things through before you make a deal with the son of the devil." He flicked off a piece of lint from his shirt, waving his hand in the air for effect. "But tell you what. I'll give you a fighting chance. A year to practice, and then we will have a test of our musical prowess outside of town where everyone will hear." Damien smirked, walking away without saying another word.

"...we're fucked."


End file.
